


Yahaba's Mistake

by BinnietheKing



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blatant Hanamatsu, Honestly Makki and Mattsun deserve their own warning label, M/M, Memeing around, Poor Yahaba, Smooching in inappropriate locales, So many bad euphemisms, Such betrayal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinnietheKing/pseuds/BinnietheKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as he hated being teased about his “good boy haircut” – whatever that meant, like, seriously, it was a perfectly normal hairstyle – Yahaba did suppose he considered himself a “good boy.” One who honestly didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this. He was a good student. He did his homework, got good grades. He tried his hardest to set as well as his senpai, the Grand King Oikawa-san, one of the most hard-working setters in all of Japan, probably. He was dedicated, determined, he had more gall than most people gave him credit for, and he was patient. Oh hell was he patient, but God was testing him. God had to be testing him. </p>
<p>One Kyoutani, plus the pressure of filling Oikawa's shoes is hard enough. But is Yahaba stronger than the memes who would tear him down?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Something Terrible Comes Out of the Closet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLittlestHumagon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittlestHumagon/gifts).



> My only excuse for writing this is that I have been dragged into some version of Seijou hell by a terrible influence.

As much as he hated being teased about his “good boy haircut” – whatever that meant, like, seriously, it was a perfectly normal hairstyle – Yahaba did suppose he considered himself a “good boy.” One who honestly didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this. He was a good student. He did his homework, got good grades. He tried his hardest to set as well as his senpai, the Grand King Oikawa-san, one of the most hard-working setters in all of Japan, probably. He was dedicated, determined, he had more gall than most people gave him credit for, and he was patient. Oh hell was he patient, but God was testing him. God had to be testing him. 

 _Go to Aoba Johsai,_ they said. _It will be such a good opportunity,_ they said. And here he was, dealing with what had to be some of the most trying teammates in the entirety of the world. And he wasn’t even thinking about Kyoutani. 

Watari, bless his heart, had just asked for a little extra practice time. Of course Yahaba wasn’t going to deny his best friend the help, so while most of the team had packed up to go home, he had agreed to stick around. And then he agreed to put away the ball cart and the net after they’d dismantled everything. Watari had mentioned having some extra homework to get done; it was the right thing to do, sending him home early. Good future captain behavior, surely. Yahaba had been to the supply closet plenty of times, so he wasn’t expecting anything all that strange when he made the trip. 

Well. Yahaba had been so. Very. Wrong.

* * *

 

“Ngh, watch the teeth,” Mattsun mumbled, pressing a hand into bristly light brown hair. 

Makki ignored him, biting a little harder at the tanned skin of Mattsun’s neck. 

Matsukawa rolled his eyes, a huff of breath escaping his lips in place of a gasp. Of course Makki wouldn’t listen to him. Not that Mattsun could really say he minded. Damn, that boy was good with his mouth. It just meant Mattsun would have to be a little more vigilant about keeping his shirt collar up for a couple of days, that was all. 

Not to be outdone as Hanamaki pulled his jersey down lower to suck into the skin over his collarbone, Matsukawa pushed his hands up under Makki’s shirt, long, calloused fingers drawing patterns against the shorter boy’s spine. Makki shivered, letting out a little groan against Mattsun’s skin. 

Mattsun chuckled low in his throat, hands dragging downward over Hanamaki’s ass, urging him closer. Makki’s head rolled back, his hands winding into Mattsun’s already disheveled hair. Their lips pressed together, and in Makki’s enthusiasm, they almost knocked over a bucket with a mop planted inside. 

“I wonder if anyone would notice if we broke something in here,” Makki mused, kicking the bucket to the side. 

Mattsun’s brows moved almost imperceptibly, but Hanamaki noticed the amusement dancing is his dark eyes. “I mean, we could find out, but I would much rather make a wreck of something else in this supply closet.” 

“Tsk, tsk, so shameful, Mattsun,” Makki tutted, guiding Mattsun’s hands back around his body. He leaned into the taller boy’s ear, tongue darting out to tease the shell before nipping once with a sharp canine. “Get cracking, then.” 

Taking the not-subtle-at-all hint, Matsukawa slid his hands up under Makki’s shorts this time, fingers snaking beneath the briefs he wore as well, squeezing slightly. Makki settled between Mattsun’s thighs, hips rocking slightly to create just a bit of friction between them. Mattsun seemed content to set an easier pace, but Makki wasn’t having it, nibbling Mattsun’s lip between his teeth and goading his partner in crime. Their mouths clashed again, tongues darting out with sloppy vigor. 

“Point taken,” Mattsun murmured once he was let up for a bit of air. 

Makki smirked, a devilish look in his eyes before he was pulling Mattsun back into a kiss. 

* * *

 

Yahaba dragged the cart behind him, careful of the one rickety wheel that occasionally got stuck. It was easier to guide the cart by pulling because of it, something Yahaba had learned after accidentally knocking the whole thing over, sending balls scattered all over the gym as a first year. 

He hummed quietly to himself, the theme song of some show his mother had been watching, as he fiddled with the rolled up net and the door handle, his slightly sweaty palms slipping against the metal. He swung the door open, prepared to catch it against his hip, but something else had him uttering, “Fuck,” in the tiniest voice right before the door’s impact made his breath catch. 

The closet was…occupied. Matsukawa had Hanamaki backed into a corner, the latter’s hands buried deep into wavy black locks. Yahaba’s eyes were glued to the place where their mouths were fused together, a little bit of drool visible in the dim lighting. With the way their cheeks were… _moving_ , Yahaba was 95% certain there was tongue. Excessive tongue. 

He was thankful that he never blushed harder than a light rosy pink, because his face felt like a goddamn traffic light and this situation would only be made worse if he looked it. _Shit, shit, shit, shit_. 

Though he was farther away, Hanamaki reacted first, hands falling to Matsukawa’s shoulders, pressing lightly. Matsukawa pulled away, but apparently there was more to go because Yahaba looked on in horror as Mastukawa’s hands dropped from approximately nipple level beneath Hanamaki’s shirt. Hanamaki _moaned_ at the loss of contact and Yahaba swore every blood vessel in his face must’ve been broken because the heat was _unbearable_. There was no way he didn’t look like a traffic light. 

“Uh, um, I-” The second year stammered, his entire body filled with an overwhelming urge to _NOPE_ right out of this plane of existence. If only the universe worked that way. 

Yahaba tried not look too closely at either of them, blinking at the plain white wall behind his senpais' heads. But in his mortification, his focus kept darting around. Matsukawa regarded his kouhai with his caterpillar brows furrowed for just a moment, not the slightest bit flustered. Hanamaki seemed more surprised, eyes a tad wild before his gaze met Matsukawa’s. Something must have passed between them because the tension in Hanamaki’s shoulders seemed to evaporate, and then Yahaba’s dread quadrupled because they both leered down at him with matching smirks. He had never felt quite this small, but unfortunately he wasn’t small enough to shrink back into the gym from whence he came. There was no escape. 

Matsukawa’s arm darted out, landing against the doorframe in the proximity of Yahaba’s head. Yahaba was truly trapped between the heavy weight of the door against his side, and his teammate’s hand – _the hand that had just been fondling Hanamaki_ – that was almost close enough to brush against his “good boy haircut.” Yahaba wanted to recoil so badly, but he was afraid that any sudden movements would just cause one of the third years to strike out at him like a snake. 

“So,” Matsukawa drawled, every second he held that syllable torture to Yahaba. “I see someone stayed late after practice today, what a coincidence Makki.” 

Hanamaki’s bravado seemed to return full force as he leaned against a shelf with his arms crossed. “Indeed,” he added, “and now-” he paused for dramatic effect, an effect which was only barely diminished by the redness of his ears, “it appears you have now been let in on one of Aoba Johsai’s greatest secrets.” 

Yahaba gulped, a sound he hoped wasn’t as audible outside his own head. So Hanamaki was a little embarrassed. Good. At least _one_ of them should be. Yahaba realized he didn't understand Matsukawa at all. 

“The meme team is really the dream team, if you know what I mean.” 

Yahaba didn’t need to see Matsukawa’s eyebrows wagging to know all too well what he'd meant. “Look,” he said, finally finding his voice, “I just have to put this…somewhere. I, uh I didn’t mean-” 

“Of course you didn’t mean to catch the show, I’m sure. It was supposed to be invitation only. Very exclusive, you know,” Hanamaki said.  

“Only a select few know that players two and three do the bump and grind after all,” Matsukawa remarked. 

Hanamaki grinned. “Engage in gland-to-gland combat.” 

“Rub bacons.” 

“Rough and tumble on the regular.” 

“Assault with a friendly weapon.” 

“Do the horizontal tango.” 

“Dance the forbidden polka.” 

“Frick-frack paddy whack.” 

“Give the dog a bone.” 

“Diddle-” 

“Enough, enough!” Yahaba cried, almost flinching straight into the door. It was hardly a remarkable feat for them to know so many terrible euphemisms for that thing they were doing that Yahaba didn't want to think about. it was another thing entirely to hear just how many they could name, and rapid-fire, too. He just wanted to make all that stop. “I swear I won’t tell anyone,” he promised, hoping beyond hope it would be enough to shut them up. 

“Oh we aren’t worried about that, Mr. Good Boy Hair. We’re sure you’re very trustworthy,” Matsukawa said. His eyes looked almost friendly, but Yahaba couldn’t trust that they were truly benign. 

“Actually, we think this is a perfect opportunity to really solidify some team bonding,” Hanamaki intoned. A snort escaped him at the disgusted look on Yahaba’s face before he continued. “You still aren’t invited to churn the butter, don’t worry about that.” 

“But,” Matsukawa continued, “now you know something important about us. It gives us a…shared experience.” 

There was a lump the size of a volleyball in Yahaba’s throat, making it hard to breathe. He couldn’t see a way for this to end well for him. It was impossible. Even though he was the one with the leverage, technically, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. Matsukawa and Hanamaki were far too dangerous, and apparently too shameless to submit to blackmail. Besides, both of them were larger than him even if it wasn’t by much, and they were good friends with Iwaizumi-senpai who was most certainly stronger. No, no, these were risky waters he was treading, and he was 100% certain that he was at the mercy of the tides. 

Left with little choice but to stare with greater and greater trepidation, Yahaba just looked into the fathomless eyes of Matsukawa. It was like staring into dead space. 

“I say we take full advantage of our moment of bonding, and you should let us help you finish putting this stuff away,” Hanamaki said. 

Matsukawa shrugged, pushing the door off of Yahaba. “Yeah, besides, you kind of ruined the mood.” 

Yahaba pulled a face of sheer horror, nose scrunched up with the corners of his mouth contorted. He hadn’t meant to be so transparent with his facial expressions, but given the circumstances he couldn’t try to channel Kunimi’s seeming indifference. Bolting really did seem like a good option as Matsukawa took the net out of his hands. But poor, poor Yahaba could not move his legs. 

“Hmm," Hanamaki stroked his chin twice before gripping the side of the ball cart. "I guess the supply closet isn't really a very sexy location, but it definitely isn't the strangest one we've found ourselves in, huh?”  

Matsukawa shot him an amused glance. “There was that one time we made out in that little alley on the way to the corner store.” 

 _He’s got to be kidding_ , Yahaba thought, not without some desperation. This was not the sort of conversation he needed to hear. It was bad enough he knew one place these two...frequented. 

“Mhm,” Hanamaki agreed. “There was the time we almost got carried away in Iwaizumi’s house when he went to get us a snack for our study session. I’ve never seen you scramble for your pants so fast.” 

“Lets not forget the time you blew me in the restroom at the Inter-high games.” Matsukawa’s eyes softened fondly. “Best way to celebrate a victory.” 

Yahaba nearly squeaked. _Who would do such things in places like that? What kind of perverts are they?_   He felt indignation seeping into his already gnarled thoughts, on behalf of poor Iwaizumi-senpai. On behalf of any other poor, unfortunate souls who may have borne witness to their shenanigans.

“Hey, Yahaba,” Matsukawa said, tone so casual, he could have been conversing about the weather a moment ago. “Would you mind passing over the broom real quick?” 

Startled into movement, and praying it would be a distraction, the second year leaped into action. He passed the broom into Matsukawa’s waiting hand, feeling like the most awkward third wheel in history. He wished he could be that rickety wagon wheel that just rolled off, bailing after hitting too many bumps in the road. 

As Matsukawa began sweeping up some of the dust that had settled in parts of the closet, Hanamaki fought with the ball cart, trying to fit it in place like a tricky Tetris block. “Oi, pull your weight, eh Mr. Good Boy Hair.” 

Not wanting to piss off Hanamaki, Yahaba helped him maneuver the cart back inside the closet. He kept his focus on the task at hand, thankful his body did not betray him as his jersey brushed the older boy’s arm. 

“What a good kouhai,” Hanamaki crooned, ruffling Yahaba’s hair. His smile faltered quickly and he stared down at his boxy fingers with a look of slight alarm. “Oh no that was the hand that I-” 

“ _What_?” Ashamed, Yahaba’s hand flew to cover his own mouth at the shriek. He would be haunted by this moment forever. Tainted, never to be clean again. His innocence was gone. Robbed by two hooligans. This was not at all how he'd imagined it would happen. 

Hanamaki laughed, sharing an amused look with Matsukawa. “I’m just kidding, that hand didn’t touch anything gross, I swear.” 

“My hands, however,” Matsukawa added, leaning the broom against his shoulder so he could wiggle his fingers menacingly in Yahaba’s direction. 

Counting to ten, Yahaba closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. 

“So mean, Mattsun,” Hanamaki groused. Leaning towards the beset upon setter, he cupped a hand over his mouth. “He is a secret ‘S’ type after all,” he said in a conspiratory whisper.

“Ooo-kay, I think that’s everything, senpais,” Yahaba said stiffly. Nobody could make him endure any more of this. They just couldn’t. It was absolutely imperative that he go home, take the longest, hottest shower ever, and forget this whole thing had ever happened.  

In a surprisingly swift act of mercy, Matsukawa nodded. “We can take it from here. Our mess and all that. We’ll see you tomorrow for practice. Bright and early.” 

Something about his tone almost made it sound like a threat, but Yahaba refused to look a gift horse in the mouth. Bowing once, he turned sharply on his heel and waltzed straight out of the gym as quickly as he dared. His stomach twisted at the thought of having to sit through dinner after all this, but Yahaba didn’t even bother changing out of his practice clothes, not willing to waste any time. His life had just changed. He could feel the doom settling upon him like the red flush on the back of his neck. There was no way he could go to practice tomorrow. 

With a shake of his head, Yahaba steeled himself. No. He couldn't think like that. If he were to be future captain, he would have to strengthen his resolve. This really was a test from God. He just had to be strong enough.

* * *

 

Back inside the gym, Makki frowned.

"I hope you're not fretting over our interrupted make-out session," Mattsun said, tucking the broom back into the closet.

“I never got to use ‘diddle the dumplings,’” Makki lamented, shaking his head. 

Mattsun shot him a wicked grin. “Fear not. There will be time enough for that. Tomorrow is a new day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless you for getting this far, but alas, this is not the end. Yahaba is in for a bumpy ride.
> 
> You can find more memeing and Haikyuu on my tumblr @justwhoiamthisweek


	2. In Which Yahaba is Rightfully Wary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning practice: are Hanamaki and Matsukawa friends or foes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be okay, Yahaba. Sort of. 
> 
> (I'm probably going to have to take a second whack at this chapter but here it is for now >w

Just for a little while, Yahaba wished his brain wouldn’t replay Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s drool-filled make-out session whenever his eyes were closed. Unbidden, echoes of that moan resounded in his memory.

It was, in a word, gross.

Yahaba groaned, tossing over on his mattress _again_ . Back and forth and back and forth, _like their fucking saliva_ , Yahaba thought bitterly. It only happened a few hours ago. It was just fresh in his mind, Yahaba reasoned. Of course something so shocking would be on loop.

But was it really shocking? The more Yahaba thought about it – despite how much he didn’t want to – the less surprised he really was. Matsukawa and Hanamaki had always seemed incredibly close. Ridiculously in sync. It was quite obnoxious, really. And while that didn’t necessarily have to mean they were fooling around – after all, Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san knew each other for longer and Yahaba was pretty sure he didn’t think they made-out in the supply closet – there was something…almost intuitive about following that closeness with more.

Yahaba groaned a little louder at the strange thrill that shot low in his stomach. He’d never kissed anyone before. He couldn’t even recall ever seeing anyone kiss in person, not even a chaste kiss shared between his parents, and now here he was, sixteen years old and full of hormones and weird mental images. It wasn’t that he’d wanted to be included at all because, ew, no, Matsukawa and Hanamaki were decidedly not his type. Not that he knew what his type was exactly, either. Was he just jealous that they had each other to kiss? While Yahaba had…he had volleyball.

Pulling the pillow over his head, the setter briefly considered suffocating himself just to make it all stop. He did not have time to find someone to kiss in the supply closet. Girls didn’t seem to want to talk with him, and boys, well – he stopped that train of thought real quick. With an epic display of mental fortitude, Yahaba plugged his headphones into his phone and picked a playlist, determined to let the sounds of the music lull him to sleep.

Luckily, he did not dream of his upperclassmen, or supply closets, or disgustingly drooly kisses. Instead, he dreamt about hands: gripping the handle of a broom, spiking, serving, running through brown hair, fingers with white tape wound around them. Hands clenched into fists, hands clutching a package of chicken nuggets - complete with a cute chicken on the front - hands tugging on the corner of teal gym shorts…

* * *

Mattsun strolled into the clubroom with Oikawa at his side. The captain had been feeling particularly chatty that morning, but Iwaizumi was dragging his ass, and someone had to humor Oikawa’s mood. There were a few club members already there, waiting for Oikawa to let them in and get changed. Kindaichi was practically bouncing on his heels, wide eyes flitting about, no doubt looking for Iwaizumi. Mattsun was thankful for his relatively impassive face – it would crush the noodle to know his fawning was so obvious he was being laughed at.

The first years went in to change first, as there were only two of them, and they trickled out quickly to begin setting up the gym.

Mattsun began opening the top few buttons of his shirt, and it only served to distract Oikawa just a little. (“You shouldn’t just _strip_ , Mattsun, it’s rude.”) He had left the house without even doing up his tie, as was the case most mornings. What was the point if he was just going to get undressed again, anyway? Mattsun was ready to tune out Oikawa’s harping when he noticed Yahaba creeping into the changing room in his periphery.

He looked just the slightest bit off, not quite exhausted, not quite disheveled, but Mattsun didn’t miss his back pull taut like a string when their eyes met. Nor did he miss the tiny “meep” that Yahaba tried to disguise as a cough.

Not feeling particularly antagonistic at this hour, Mattsun resisted the urge to strike. He was pretty sure Oikawa had changed topics, but he hadn’t the damndest idea what the new topic was. Was it aliens? It was probably aliens. Iwaizumi totally owed him for this. And Makki. _Where is Makki?_

Yahaba seemed more relaxed as he exited the changing room a few minutes later, chatting with Watari. Matsukawa watched them go, chuckling as Iwaizumi almost knocked them both over on his way into the room.

He and Oikawa followed, the latter continuing to blabber on after Iwaizumi’s grunted, “Good morning.” Mattsun merely nodded.

In fact, he hadn’t made a sound all morning until Makki finally entered the room with a highly unnecessary “Good morning, nerds.”

“Ah look, our nerd king has finally graced us with his presence,” Mattsun responded. It earned him a shove.

Makki clutched his hand over his heart. “I came here to have a good time, and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now." A graceless snort escaped Mattsun's nose. "I guess I did my job well." "Don't overestimate your savagery. My mom found my last English test before I left this morning. It was not pretty.”

“Well maybe if you _studied_ ,” Oikawa sneered.

“My marks are okay. And at least I’m not in Class 1 like this clown.” Makki reached over to ruffle Mattsun’s hair, almost knocking him over with his pants midway down his legs.

“Quit it. There are more of us third years than there are of the rest of them. Get changed so we can set up,” Iwaizumi barked. He marched back out of the room, Yuda, Shido, and Sawauchi not far behind.

With Iwaizumi gone, Mattsun retaliated by flinging his pants at Makki’s ass, one eyebrow cocked.

Oikawa regarded them with both hands on his hips, looking much like an angry suburban mom. “Time to start warming up! Don’t take too long,” he chided like he wasn’t one of the last people ready to start practice. He looked right into Mattsun’s eyes before zeroing in on a spot just over the tip of his uniform collar. “ _Mattsun_!” he shrieked, scandalized. He reached out to pull the shirt out of the way, but Mattsun grabbed his arm first.

“Whoa, boy. I can do it myself.”

Ever the drama queen, the captain narrowed his eyes, the hand of his trapped arm pointing an accusatory finger. “I see what you’re doing, Mattsun. You’re trying to hide the evidence because you don’t want to tell me who your girlfriend is.”

Makki snorted, earning himself a glare in turn.

Mattsun just shrugged. “It’s not like that. I got hit with a volleyball.”

Oikawa threw both hands in the air, giving them both a suspicious once-over before shouting, “Conspirators!” Turning on his heels, he went to conduct practice like a good captain should.

Now that they were alone, Makki pulled Mattsun’s shirt all the way off. “Yikes, man, you should probably just wear your spare jersey to practice.” He poked the fading but still noticeable hickey on the side of Mattsun’s neck.

“That bad, hm?” Mattsun looked down his nose, shooting Makki a clear expression of _I wonder whose fault that is_. “Well, I’ll wear yours if you wear mine.”

Hanamaki grinned. “Of course.” 

* * *

Everything was perfectly normal. That’s what Yahaba made sure to remind himself, repeatedly. He wasn’t the one harboring a terrible secret. Or, rather, he was, but it wasn’t his secret.

Practice was falling into the usual routine. Kyoutani even neglected to show up, as per usual. Still, Yahaba felt unsettled. Like a cat that slipped off its perch. He may have landed on the ground, but he no longer trusted his footwork.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa didn’t seem to be behaving any differently as far as Yahaba could tell. They lingered in the changing room for longer than the rest, and Makki had smirked at him with a, “Good morning Mr. Good Boy Hair,” when he saw him. They were wearing each other’s jerseys, which was something they did fairly often, to the annoyance of their coach. And sometimes their captain.

Oikawa-san made a strange face at them when they waltzed into the gym, but Yahaba was more perturbed by the face Hanamaki had made at him. Doggedly, he kept his cool. He didn’t make another embarrassing sound like he did when Mattsun first looked at him.

It was tempting to spend most of practice keeping watch of the two boys most likely to be watching him, but after stumbling over two flying falls in a row, Yahaba decided that was a bad idea.

Watari asked if he was okay, and of course Yahaba said yes. He could _not_ let Watari know about this. He would take this secret to his grave rather than burden his best friend with it.

After all their warm-ups came the drills. First up were receiving drills. Yahaba wasn’t terrible with those, and he didn’t mind tossing and hitting the ball back and forth with Watari. Keeping busy was good. It made it easier to ignore the two third years that had partnered up just a few feet away.

The whole rest of practice went exceptionally well once Yahaba could focus on the feel of the ball and the strain of his muscles. It really was perfectly normal.

And then came time to clean up.

“The third years will do most of it,” Iwaizumi-san said after most of the balls had been returned to the bins. His hazel eyes bore into Oikawa-san, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki since they were the ones who lagged behind when practice began.

“So bossy, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa-san whined.

“Don’t worry; it will go fast,” Hanamaki said.

“Yeah,” Matsukawa agreed. “We know the supply closet well.”

Yahaba felt his face growing warm under the sly, steady gaze of Matsukawa.

“All the ins and outs,” Hanamaki drawled. Hanamaki’s brows only wagged once, but that was more than enough for Yahaba to understand that it was meant as an innuendo. An innuendo only he truly understood.

His stomach sank instantly. Herding the first years into the changing room only barely took his mind off the thought of that damn closet. Of course Hanamaki and Matsukawa wouldn't dare pull off anything while the rest of their teammates were actively helping them put away the equipment, but what if there was  _evidence_. Surely there would be something out of place, like the mop, or the broom, _anything_ , like, how could the two of them stand there while Iwaizumi-san touched the shelf Hanamaki had been leaning on just yesterday?  _Oh, wait, they have no shame._ Yahaba didn't know why he was chosen to be the vessel of shame for the both of them. But here he was. 

"Are you okay?" Watari asked as they changed into their uniforms. 

Yahaba nodded. "Of course. I just remembered something I have to do later, that's all." He didn't consider himself a good liar, but he hoped it was convincing. He just wanted to change quickly and get to class. 

So quickly that he completely forgot his notebook in the club room when he'd moved his stuff around. Panic rose sharply when he searched his bag for the missing book, only to be replaced with annoyance when he realized where he must have left it. There was still time for him to go back.   

"We have to stop meeting like this," Matsukawa remarked when Yahaba barreled into the room.

He was not in a compromising position this time, but, once again he and Hanamaki were the last ones around, Makki hanging over Matsukawa's shoulders. Yahaba realized Matsukawa was busy playing something on his PSP. 

"I just forgot something!" he yelped, bending reflexively into a bow. It was terrible how cowed he felt when he hadn't even done anything wrong, but Yahaba couldn't stop himself from tip-toeing around these two, it seemed.

"Hey, don't worry, we aren't going to randomly jump each other now," Hanamaki said. He looked over at Yahaba with the corner of his mouth quirked and a hip cocked. "I'm just trying to get over a really hard level in this video game."

" _Really hard_ , yeah, mhm," Matsukawa mumbled. His eyes didn't leave the screen and the rapid motions of his thumbs kept making little _clicks_.  

Yahaba looked back under the chair he'd dropped his bag on, finding his missing notebook with ease. It would take two seconds to slip right back out the door. If his senpais wanted to be late to class for playing games, that was their problem.

"Yahaba," Makki called, right before the second year had a chance to escape.

"Yes," Yahaba ground out, teeth clenching instinctively. Turning slowly, he found two sets of eyes on him.

"Quick question," Hanamaki continued.

Matsukawa pulled the collar of his shirt down slightly, and Yahaba wanted to groan when his eyes fell on a bruise that he knew the origin of all to well. "Does this look too noticeable to you?"

"You might want to invest in make-up, Matsukawa-senpai," Yahaba snapped. _I am not going to play can-you-spot-the-hickey. Not today._  

Class time was approaching, and Yahaba didn't have more time to waste. He took his notebook back to his classroom to the sounds of Hanamaki's surprised laughter.

It felt like something insidious was truly beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the worst is yet to come...
> 
> For more Haikyuu, you can check out my tumblr @justwhoiamthiweek.

**Author's Note:**

> Bless you for getting this far, but alas, this is not the end. Yahaba is in for a bumpy ride.
> 
> You can find more memeing and Haikyuu on my tumblr @justwhoiamthisweek


End file.
